


Stand and be Counted.

by orphan_account



Series: Broadcast in Technicolor [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Queerplatonic Relationships, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark was not the man to make a sacrifice play. He was egotistical, volatile, and a self-preservationist down the marrow of his bones. Captain Rogers knew all this to be true; still, it hadn’t been him that had come to Bucky’s rescue. It had been Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand and be Counted.

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of a series of unrelated Stucky fics.

Captain Rogers had seen more than his fair share of disastrous press conferences. It was a hazard of this line of work, he supposed; there were always ruined downtown streets. There was always collateral damage. Worst, there was always Tony Stark’s loud, playful mouth. Even if the team hadn’t done anything local news found distasteful, Tony could always manage to dig a fresh pit for them all with his tongue.

Cameras weren’t for smiling at, not while on a panel. Questions were best answered in thirty seconds or less, preferably by anyone but Stark. When the interview concluded, it was best to leave individually and in all different directions; follow-up reporters were easier to avoid this way.

It wasn’t a particularly honorable system, but one Steve had become comfortable with. It kept the team out of the hot seat most days, and even when it didn’t-- well, like he said: Steve had seen more than a few conferences go under. He doubted there was anywhere lower one could go than it previously had.

A year to the day of the incident in DC and six months after the retrieval of Bucky Barnes-- a scant _two_ months after the man had been released to Steve’s private care-- Captain Rogers found himself mentally recanting. There were still a few interview sinkholes left, and he and the team, including the freshly recruited Bucky, were currently drowning in one.

“What are your plans for addressing the crimes committed during Barnes’ active duty as the Winter Soldier?”

“Are safety measures in place to keep him confined to the Tower while unsupervised?”

“How closely is Stark Tech monitored and has that changed since Barnes’ arrival?”

Steve felt each question like a bullet, but kept his mouth shut. Prior to the interview, the team had decided that it was in their best interest for questions concerning Bucky not specifically directed at Steve to be answered by everyone else. Natasha bore the brunt of them, cool and clipped like she always was in interviews. What she didn’t take, Dr. Banner supplied, supplemented occasionally by Tony.

Bucky answered none of them, but how could he? They were questions _about_ him, not for him.

“Have you considered the possibility that he’s been repurposed as a sleeper agent?” 

Steve scoffed at that one, drawing the attention of the woman who posed it. She watched him a moment, though Rogers doubted she expected him to answer. He hadn’t said a word in the two hours the team had been here. 

Natasha took it, deflecting the journalist’s attention. “We’re trained agents. We consider every possibility." 

Another reporter picked the line of questioning up. “But if he _has_ been repurposed--” 

Steve didn’t wait to hear the rest of the question. Letting it fade to white noise, he glanced over at Bucky. The man was in the chair to his left-- always to Steve’s left, even at their home in the Tower--, eyes drilling holes into the conference table. The fingers of his organic arm were twisted in his sleeve. The fabric was more frayed that it had been that morning; if he looked closely enough, Steve could see the holes Bucky was worrying into it. 

It was easy, the Captain thought, for the journalists to say things like _repurposed_ , to look at Bucky like steel to be melted down and cast and bent. Bucky hadn’t cried in front of them. He hadn’t waited trembling on his knees at the entrance to Avengers Tower for them. They didn’t have to pull him from the freezing shower when he forgot himself and sat in it for hours. They didn’t see him ration each meal, reserving half of it to offer to Steve or Natasha-- whichever finished their own plate first. 

Bucky Barnes wasn’t a weapon to be repurposed; the thought was enough to make Captain Rogers gag. Weapons didn’t press kisses to their friend’s brow, or offer to brush and tie back their teammate’s hair before sparring. A weapon wouldn’t be twisting like a pinned bug at this damn conference. 

Steve shifted in his seat and stretched out to bump knees with Bucky. The man didn’t look up from the table, but the corner of his mouth turned up a little, and Steve would like to think he didn’t imagine the ease of tension in the other’s thigh. 

“So what you’re saying--” Steve tensed at the voice. It belonged to a man whose name he didn’t know, but whose face he’d seen a dozen times; a nasty reporter who’d gotten a rise out of Tony more than once. “--is that you have no regard for the safety of yourselves or the people of New York.” 

Captain Rogers looked up in time to see a scowl rise and fall on Dr. Banner’s face. “I don’t think anyone in this room has shown more concern for public safety than our team.” 

The reporter’s eyes narrowed. “You say while housing and granting weapon access to the man with the highest number of confirmed kills this century. If your team is nothing but a conglo--” 

"Is it the number of kills that bothers you the most?” 

The reporter’s-- and Steve’s-- brows shot up, attention darting to Tony. Stark had been relatively quiet throughout the panel, answering only questions directly asked to him. It had been an agreement he and Steve made beforehand. If Rogers played by the team’s rules for the interview, Tony promised he would as well. Given Stark’s less than sparkling record with the press, It was a compromise the Captain had been willing to make. Now, however-- 

Tony’s eyes were bright as always, but his lips were pursed to a tight line. He was on the other side of Bucky, shoulder to shoulder with the bionic arm the reporter had been stealing glances at. Stark leaned forward a little, as if to shield it with his body. 

"I asked,” Tony began again, “if the number of kills is what bothers you most.” 

The reporter sneered up at Tony; they had squared off on camera before. No doubt this was what he’d been aiming for. Steve almost wanted to interrupt. 

“It’s one of my top concerns, yes. As I’m sure can be said for everyone here.” 

Bucky’s leg went stone tight against Steve’s knee. Under the table, Rogers bounced his own leg to stroke it soothingly. It wasn’t enough, but he hoped it would help. On the man’s other side, Tony nodded slowly in consideration. 

“That’s what I thought.” Stark steepled his fingers, resting his chin on their tips. “Well, like I see it, you got two options. If you’re as worried about body count as you say, you can either harangue us about Mr Barnes some more--” He threw the reporter a wolfish grin. “that’s going _splendidly_ , by the way-- or you can direct your questions to the person with the actual highest count.” 

The conversational hum in crowd went dead, leaving only the clicking echo of cameras. Steve threw a look to Natasha; she didn’t seem any more sure of where this was going than he felt. He settled for concentrating on keeping a slow stroking pace against Bucky’s thigh. It trembled under his knee, but Bucky's eyes had lifted from the table. His attention was on Stark now, like everyone else’s. Rogers wondered if he should be grateful. 

“What, no guesses?” Tony flicked his eyes over the room. “You guys are no fun.” He jabbed at his own chest with two fingers. The reporter cocked a brow in response, but Tony didn’t miss a beat. “I know, I know: not as personal as the hits my friend here did--” He nudged Bucky’s metal arm with his own. “-- but take a look at some aerial photos of my bomb sites. I’ve got hundreds of mass graves deeper than the pits of hell, and no one had to play Operation with my brain to make me dig them.” 

Tony relaxed into his chair, eyes never leaving the reporter. “So you want to get your panties in a twist? Be my guest. Just bring it to the right door, because Barnes didn’t know his own name until six months ago. And me?” He shrugged again. “I just waited for old men to write out big checks.” 

The cameras kept clicking, but the reporters-- the offending man included-- seemed to have no response. A few scribbled in their notepads. Others looked up at Stark as dumbly as Steve knew he was. 

Tony stared them all down a moment, then rapped the table with his knuckles. “We’re done here.” 

He stood, the rest of the team following his lead without much thought. Despite his shoddy conversational track record, Stark always knew best when to end a press conference. It was easy to defer to him in this. They all hopped to their feet-- Bucky a little slower, and only after Tony’s teasing _You too, RoboCop_ \-- and scattered throughout the crowd before the journalists regained their footing. 

Steve took Bucky’s arm and led him back to the safety of Avengers Tower, stealing glances at Howard’s striding ghost whenever he could. 

_\--------------------------_

Tony Stark was not the man to make a sacrifice play. He was egotistical, volatile, and a self-preservationist down the marrow of his bones. Captain Rogers knew all this to be true; still, it hadn’t been him that had come to Bucky’s rescue. It had been Tony. 

Tony, who made his fortune in weapons development. 

Tony, who drank too much too early. 

Tony, who wouldn’t know an appropriate conversational topic if someone handed him a book of them. 

Tony, who-- in this case, entirely appropriately-- broke every rule on God’s green earth. 

Steve tried not to feel ashamed of himself for keeping quiet when Tony hadn’t. 

It didn’t work. 


End file.
